Page 12 of Perfect Pact

Mr. Wright holds the letter up in front of him. Looking through the bottom of his bifocals, he begins to read.

To my bull-headed son, Squirt, and Linc:

If you made it this far. Then you know I’ve gone home to be with my dear Molly. I know I didn’t earn the privilege of your love, but I wanted to let you know I did love you. I may not have been able to speak the words or show affection, but I felt it. I just wish I would have found a way to convey that to you all.

With that said, I wrote letters to each of you explaining my decisions and why I accepted my fate. None of you are to blame for any of this. I brought this on myself. I could have tried harder. I was selfish and stubborn. I accept that now. A little too late for me. But maybe learning a little bit of our history will help you not make the same mistakes.

If you learn anything from me, I hope it’s to love harder and never give up. Always move forward, but never be afraid to look back. That’s important. Don’t be afraid of the past. It doesn’t define you. Appreciate it. Embrace it. Then move on from it.

Like Molly used to say, love you more than the Montana sky.

Until we meet again,

Dad “Grandpa Buck”

Mr. Wright folds the letter up and places it back into the envelope. I can’t make myself to look at the other men in the room. It’s not anger, it’s not sadness, it’s more of an understanding. Maybe John and I aren’t that different. You do desperate things when trying to survive. How am I to judge that?

“Thank you for being patient.” Mr. Wright looks over the tops of his glasses and smiles. “Mr. Jacobs—Buck wrote another letter distributing the bulk of the estate.” He fumbles through the papers. “I just have to find… Ah, here we go.” He pushes his glasses back up and addresses the room. “Anyone need a few minutes?”

“Please just continue.” John’s voice cracks.

I wonder why I’m even here. I thought I knew everything about Mr. Jacobs, but clearly what I knew was only a fraction of his life. I feel more like a fly on the wall than anything else.

I continue to look straight ahead, only catching a glimpse of Dusty with his elbow on the arm of the chair, hand covering his mouth as he soaks this all in.

“Now, I should make you aware this letter was written a year ago. Any reference to timeline should reflect accordingly. Now, on to the reading,” Mr. Wright informs before he continues on with Mr. Jacob’s second request.

Now, to the good stuff. My estate. My dream was to own a successful ranch my son and grandsons were part of. I’m not rehashing the past. It was a one-sided dream I realized a little too late. However, after I got my shit together, I did something about it, realizing my dream could possibly allow you to rope your own.

After selling a chunk of land for an ungodly amount of money, I did something extremely crazy. I bet it all on a racehorse… and won! By golly, did I win! Now, John, I know what you’re thinking, but I swear on your mother’s grave, I wasn’t drunk. Stupid—sure, but sober. Actually, I haven’t had a drop since the day Dusty ran that four-wheeler into Simon Wright’s pond. That little shit scared the bajeebies out of me. Simon, if you’re reading this, Malcolm had nothing to do with it. It was all my grandson. Sorry, Squirt!

I tried to make sure everything was consolidated as much as possible. Besides the trust, I have a life insurance policy, a valuable coin collection, house, and barn. I know the easiest thing for me to do would have been to sell everything off and split my worth between you three. Actually, that was the original plan, but a year ago, I came across an old unopened package when I was looking for a blanket your mom used to cover up with while curled up on the couch. The blanket was sitting on a chair in the corner of the dining room. The package was on top.

John, I didn’t know. I never saw the package. If I would have opened it all those years ago, things would have been different. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for making that for me. Thank you for reminding me some things are worth remembering. That is why I’ve divided the estate the way I have.

“Lucy made me and the boys make that album for him for Father’s Day. She pushed me so hard to call him, but I refused. That project was the last resort, and when dad didn’t even acknowledge it, she stopped pushing so hard. She finally saw what I saw.” John, who is now sitting at the table, confesses, and this time, I can’t look away. Not when he’s hurting so much.

“I’m sorry.” I reach across that table and place my hand over his.

John swipes at his cheeks with his free hand before the tears have a chance to fall. “I didn’t know he was sick. I swear. I didn’t even know he’d died until I got the call from Simon.”

I have no words. Maybe I should have pushed Mr. Jacobs harder when he found out he had cancer, but he was persistent he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Especially to a family he had to learned to live without.

And maybe I should have informed them of his passing, but Mr. Jacobs had strict instructions. Inside his leather binder wasn’t the phone numbers to his next of kin, but to Simon Wright, with whom he left very strict instructions for. No visitation. No funeral. Just a casket and a plot next to his beloved wife. He made it clear he’s already made peace with his past and is ready to go when the good Lord takes him.

“I don’t mean to be insensitive, but there’s more.”

“Thank you, Simon,” John says as he pulls his hand away to grab a Kleenex in the center of the table.

There’s fifteen million dollars between the trust and insurance policy. Simon will settle up the money. After the burial, miscellaneous expenses, and attorney fees, it will be divided as such:

John ten million.

Lance three million.

Dusty two million.

This is just a rough estimate, but there’s a reason it’s being divided like this. I’ll explain as I go along.

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